Angelus
by tin
Summary: A series of coincidences that might just be cause-and-effect; Misao/Aoshi continuation to A Road Less Traveled
1. Default Chapter

**Angelus**

Rurouni Kenshin copyright Nobuhiro Watsuki

Chapter 1.

NOTE: This story is a sequel (or, if not, a follow-up story) to "A Road Less Traveled," and it takes place nearly a year after the events outlined in the latter. Furthermore, "Angelus," like Road, does not follow the RK storyline in terms of the manga ending, though there might be a reference or two lurking somewhere in the later chapters. While the reader does not really have to read Road first in order to understand this story, Angelus does make a lot of references to aforementioned. Those who are interested can find Road here:

(under Serials) 

Revised: April 24, 2003

_The words fell heavily in the somnolent silence, like the sound of stones crushed under invisible, trampling feet on an empty graveyard. Insidious, and yet reverberating with a strange, hollow rhythm of their own, merging intimately with the flashing movement of the tiny silver needle as it wove in and out of the cloth, pinning wandering threads into place with precise efficiency. And power._

_The woman looked up, eyes fearful, mouth dry. Her own work lay forgotten across her lap, a tangle of half-hearted stitches and splashing patterns gone wrong. The atmosphere stifled her, reeking ominously of decay and wrongness and a hatred so intense its very presence was evil unto itself. She could it feel it lurking in the shadows, peering gleefully over the shoulder of that other woman, listening to every word which the other's lips mindlessly uttered._

_Getting stronger with each carefully stitched pattern... a curse unto itself, as it was meant to be._

_She could not bear it any longer. "It's no good, you know," she blurted out in a shaking voice. "You think you can hurt her, but the hurt'll just come back to you... You'll regret this."_

_There was no response, only those words._

_"You're putting your soul into it," she whispered. "There's always a price to pay."_

_But she could have been talking to herself, in another empty tomb, chastening the dead for sins forgotten._

_Not that they would have cared._

_As _she_ didn't. _

Kyoto, 12th Year of the Meiji Era

"Misaaaaoooo!!!"

She nearly jumped out of her seat at the ear-deafening sound. The surprise had cost her more than her composure, however. Misao cursed as her hand, definitely _not_ her least clumsy appendage, finally lost its tenuous control on her needle and she ended up pricking her arm instead. Blood spurted out, leaving a thin crimson trail of red on the needle, on her hand, and on the white reproachful stretch of cloth.

She wondered then, not without a sense of amused if slightly bitter irony, if her life was to be forever defined by bad timing.

"Good news!" Okina bellowed as he burst into the room, waving a piece of paper triumphantly in the air. Okon and Omasu crowded after him, beaming gleefully. "You'll never believe it!"

She sighed and sat back on the floor, gazing mournfully at her ruined needlework. It had taken nearly half the entire morning before she could locate her elusive starting point in that vast wilderness of pristine white; more still before she found the right length of thread in the exact shade of color the pattern demanded. The exercise had been tiring to say the least.

'Maybe I should stick to conventional onmitsu stuff,' she thought despondently as she braced herself for Okina's announcement. The old man looked ready to explode. 'That's all I'll probably be good for, anyway. If at all.'

"Well?" she asked ungraciously. "I'm all ears, Jiya."

Okina smiled, ignoring her scowl.

"We-ell..." he drawled, watching his audience expectantly.

Misao, wanting to aggravate him, contrived to look bored.

"If you don't say it, Okina, I will!" Okon said excitedly.

"We both will," Omasu declared. "Okina has no gift for suspense."

Okina shot them a ferocious wilting glare. They subsided with maddening slowness and limpid innocent grins.

"Hmph," he grunted as he turned to Misao again. For the first time, he noticed the red-splotched cloth on the floor, and the matching bright streaks on her arm.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded.

Misao shifted uncomfortably. "I was--sewing," she muttered.

The others blinked, awestruck. "You were what?!"

She resisted the urge to throw the needle at them, though the action, however ridiculous, would be a much-needed catharsis after a very frustrating morning. But... She sighed. Changing the subject, while less satisfying to her highly-strung nerves, would be certainly be more dignified. Misao sniffed inwardly and opted for convention.

"So, what's the news?" she said with forced enthusiasm. "Is it from Tokyo?"

Her random guess hit home. Okina's eyebrow sank like lead weight.

"Yes," he nodded happily. "We've been waiting for this for a long time, Misao!"

Omasu tapped her foot. "Okina..."

"Kaoru and Kenshin are getting married!" he shouted.

They all turned to Misao.

"Oh," she said weakly.

She supposed later she should have jumped for joy. And she would have, really, if only she hadn't been so stunned. The very unexpectedness of the expected had rendered her speechless, though why it did so continued to bother her. She had prayed for _them_ often enough, especially since the persons concerned were very dear to her. 'Friends,' she thought. They, of all people, deserved a happy ending, and she wanted--would demand--nothing less for them.

She was _glad_, Misao decided, trying to ignore the terrible feeling of emptiness which had settled in her heart since Okina had shared his 'news.' She couldn't even begin to explain it, only knew it was there, and not even subsequent emotions of joy and eagerness could make her forget its disturbing presence. Misao looked down again at the tiny scribbled note from Kaoru which lay across her lap, content crammed with ebullient greetings, demands about her health and well-being, and an enigmatic quote about the virtues of an affianced life. She smiled fondly.

'Maybe because I knew it was going to happen all along... The novelty faded before it could even become reality,' she reflected, and she shook her head wryly at the direction her musings had taken. It would not do any good to brood over such an unnecessary and trifling lapse, she decided resolutely. What she should do now was to plan for Kaoru and Kenshin's visit to Kyoto, part of which included a surprise banquet Okina planned to host for the couple in the Aoiya.

'Which means I should think of a welcome present for them.' Misao frowned as she considered her options. Not exactly a wedding gift, that wasn't really appropriate, but something which would express her congratulations and earnest wishes for a happy future...

"Misao, do you want some tea?" Shiro called out from the kitchen.

For the second time that morning, surprise caught her totally off- guard. She would really have fallen off her precarious seat on the porch this time if another, more modulated and certainly less motherly voice hadn't jolted her back into position.

"Good afternoon, Misao," Aoshi said evenly.

She flushed and averted her face. 

"Good afternoon, Aoshi-sama," she replied without looking at him.

There was a short uncomfortable pause.

"Hey, Misao, I asked if you--" Shiro began, stepping out into the veranda with a tray of food on his hands. His eyes widened when he saw Aoshi. "Uh, sorry, I didn't know..."

"It's all right, Shiro," Aoshi said smoothly. "We'll just have our tea here."

"Yes, of course, Aoshi-sama," Shiro replied, shooting a sly glance at Misao, as he placed the tray on the topmost step.

"Would you like to join us?" said Aoshi.

"Uh, sorry, Aoshi-sama. Thanks for the offer but I need to do some stuff in the kitchen." Not waiting for any of them to answer, he took off with a hurried wave of his hand.

The silence continued.

She clasped her hands tightly. "I would have brought your tea to the temple later, Aoshi-sama," she said slowly. "There's no need for you to--to join me here--"

"No?" Aoshi said coolly.

The rebuke was implicit in the tone. She stiffened. "I didn't mean any disrespect," Misao retorted defensively. "I was just surprised--" Stiffness relented to tension as he sat beside her. The words intended to reproach _him_ died in her throat.

"You don't have to explain, Misao," Aoshi murmured. "You never used to apologize for anything." And then, taking advantage of her speechless appraisal, "Have you heard about Himura's forthcoming marriage?"

She sensed the interest behind the expressionless facade. "Yes," she answered, smiling slightly, unable to help it. "I'm so happy for them."

_Are you?_

Aoshi nodded.

"I am, too," he said distantly, almost as if he had forgotten her presence. "Himura deserves this chance, to finally make peace with his past, after everything that has happened..." The mask slipped for a moment, and she caught the barest flicker of pain--and resolution-- in his eyes. Unconsciously, her hand gripped the note on her lap.

"Kamiya Kaoru is the right person for him. A lifetime of togetherness will suit them both," Aoshi said, the note of absolute finality in his voice overshadowing the unusually stilted prose.

She wondered dully why he should talk to her like this.

_And what about me?_

"People must move on with her lives."

It was the message behind the oblique declaration, not the obvious irony verging on hypocrisy on the speaker's part, which roused her from her abstraction, but it did not move her into anger. All she felt was that strange, empty wistfulness.

"Do you really think so, Aoshi-sama?" she questioned gently.

He didn't seem surprised by her unexpected equanimity. "I hope so," he replied just as softly.

That caught her. She looked at him sharply, and wished she hadn't as he caught her gaze with his. Unwillingly, her eyes traced his features with lingering care, and never more than at that moment did she feel the full weight of sadness at the sudden realization that he would never be hers, not in the same way that Kenshin would belong-- indeed belonged--to Kaoru. He returned her stare unblinkingly. Longing and resentment that he should look so unmoved filled her, and she hoped then that the anger would come.

"What do you mean?" she said. 

He looked away and the moment was gone. 

"What do you think I mean?" he returned in a carefully neutral voice.

She heard the sound of paper rustling as she crushed the forgotten note in her fist.

"That you are glad that Himura has moved on." And then, painfully, "Don't you want the same for yourself?"

Silence.

The desolation which had swamped her earlier threatened to overcome her now. But it was the yearning, which she still clung to with all her heart, that made the situation almost unbearable.

In fact, it _was_ unbearable. Misao stood up. 

"I have to go," she said abruptly. "There's something--something I must do--"

"Your tea." His face was as inscrutable as ever.

"I don't want it," she bit out, and she turned away before he could see her tears.

_It does not always have to be like this._

She ate a quiet dinner, coming down only to the common room after she was sure everyone else had eaten. Okina had scolded her -- it was a rather absent-minded scold; Misao could see that he was already planning the party down to the last, almost certainly sordid detail -- and relented without much protest when she pleaded a headache, also as a matter of course. Okon and Omasu kept glancing at her worriedly, at her downcast face, her strained eyes, but she ignored them. Afterward she announced in a too-bright voice that she was going to the marketplace. Both of them offered to accompany her. She declined, saying in the same way that she wanted her present for Kenshin and Kaoru to be a surprise for everyone as well.

"But it's getting late, Misao," said Okon, exchanging another surreptious look with Omasu. "Maybe you should put it off till tomorrow."

Misao smiled a little. "I'll be fine, Okon. I won't be gone long. Besides, Kenshin and everyone else will be arriving in three days. We're going to be very busy and I don't know when I'll have another opportunity to slip away like this. You know how Jiya fusses about these things. If I put it off, I'll probably never get to buy my present at all." 

"Well, if you're sure..." said Omasu. 

"I'm just going _shopping_, for god's sake," she snapped. "Give me a break!" 

Omasu looked surprised, and then, predictably, hurt. Misao sighed inwardly.

"Misao!" exclaimed Okon in a reproachful tone. 

"I can take care of myself," she said in a softer voice. "And my headache's almost gone, if that's what you're worried about. A walk will do me good." She stood up before they could protest further. "Okay, I'm off. Is there anything you want me to get for you?"

"Nothing," said Okon quickly. Then she frowned and glanced at Omasu, whose eyes brightened. "Welll...."

"Now that you mention it..." said Omasu. 

She found the shop in question after an hour of searching, most of which she spent stomping around and muttering under her breath about manipulative old women _ and_ barging into at least three soba shops and one doubtful establishment selling "Er... candies?" -- as the nervous half-dressed shopkeeper put it -- by mistake. After their initial doubtful reaction, Okon and Omasu had practically pushed her out of the Aoiya, talking at the same time. 

"It's this little stall--" 

"--run by--" 

"--hurry up now, it's getting late--" 

"--but Okon--" 

"--you _can't_ miss him--" 

"Omasu--" 

"--we'll wait up for you, don't worry--" 

"Etoo..." 

"Goodbye, Misao!" 

So much for doing her shopping tomorrow instead. She had no doubt that it was deliberate -- they _were_ worried about her -- and had probably counted on her irritation getting the better of her non-existent headache. Misao shook her head ruefully as she backed away from yet _another _soba shop (If she were as paranoid as Sano, she would think Saitou was playing one of his nasty little games again, probably sneering at her from some unobtrusive omniscient perch. If she saw _him_ now, she would probably drop dead on the spot). 

Finally she stood in front of a low ramshackle stall, the last in a street of such buildings. Misao lifted the hanging hesitantly -- a stretch of faded cloth proclaiming it to be a fish restaurant and not a soba shop thank god -- and ducked her head under the low threshold. 

"Hello?" she called out. "Good afternoon?" 

The lamps had not been lit yet, but the interior of the tiny room was easily visible. The afternoon light, which was its strongest in summer just before the sun set, poured in through the high window slats. Misao looked around her slowly, wondering. Clothes upon clothes and piles upon piles of indistinguishable fabric were stacked haphazardly on low tables and shabby tatami mats. A moss-colored kimono decorated with irises lay stretched out on a separate table, its sleeves just dangling loose, like nearly amputated arms. Scissors, pins, needles, tortoiseshell combs, hair decorations, a confusion of threads and colored silks were entangled together on the floor, perilously close to a few pots of what looked and smelled like dyeing solutions. Misao sidestepped the confusion neatly. A big chest of drawers was pushed against the wall, beside which stood a couple of old rather unsteady-looking clothing frames. An exquisite robe of thick black silk was draped over one of the frames, glistening with lustrous gold flowers. On top this robe came a red kimono with a quilted hem, the edges of which nearly brushed the floor. Multilayered gauze and damask draped the other frame, almost negligently. 

"A moment!" someone replied, perhaps from a hidden inner room. Misao started. The voice was pitched high and sounded somewhat female, though there was something else peculiar about it. "Please make yourself comfortable. I'll be along shortly!" 

"Yes, yes, thank you," Misao called back."There's no hurry." 

She approached the clothing frame cautiously. Up close, she could smell a faint fragrance emanating from the kimono -- a mixture of sandalwood, musk, amber, and a few other scents she could not distinguish. The robes had been perfumed with incense, but this blend smelled old, and distant, its base essence being age. 

Her ears caught the sound of footsteps approaching, and then that of a door sliding open. She stepped back quickly. 

"I'm sorry, Miss, have you been waiting long? I had to pick up something in the back. Here, I brought you some tea..." 

Misao turned round. "Oh, no, please don't bother. I'm only here to pick up--" 

She blinked. 

A blond-haired man, his head barely reaching her shoulder, stood beaming up at her, carrying a tray. He was not Japanese, she could see it in a glance, though he was wearing traditional Japanese attire. That it was a most fashionable female attire did not faze her one bit, after having seen Kamatari. What startled her though -- she blinked again -- was the fact that his tiny feet were encased in delicate fishnet stockings. They looked rather incongruous with the consciously worn geta sandals. A fob watch was tucked inside his obi, which he consulted now, nearly dislodging the tea tray. He looked like a miniature painted china doll on display in one of those European fad shops Omasu and Okon loved to frequent. 

"Dear me, it is far too late. Oh well." He sighed and slipped the watch back into his obi again. Then he looked up at Misao, still smiling, his small blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Is there anything I can do for you?" 

The vocal peculiarity was in the accent. He was fluent in the language in all other respects. He tilted his head to one side, obviously waiting for her answer. 

Misao gathered her composure. "I beg your pardon, Mister--" 

"Thomas," he said promptly."Please call me Thomas." 

"Thomas-san." She smiled back. "Okon and Omasu sent me. They said they would like to retrieve a package?" 

"Oh! Okon-san and Omasu-san!" The little man beamed again. "Of course! My two favorite customers!" He pushed aside a heap of what looked like Western ladies skirts to one side to make room for the tea tray, scattering a miscellaneous array of buttons on the floor. Misao hurried to help him. 

"Thank you very much," said Thomas. "And what is your name, Miss?" 

"Misao," she answered a trifle shyly, still bent over collecting the buttons. 

"You are Okon-san and Omasu-san's pretty friend," exclaimed Thomas. "They talk about you all the time." 

That set her back up. Misao looked at him quickly over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes warily, knowing with a sinking heart what was coming. "Do they?" 

Thomas seemed delighted with her reaction. "Yes. They say you and your childhood sweetheart, a man ravaged by guilt, redeemed by love, beautiful beyond--" 

Misao sighed. It was always the same old story. "He is not my childhood sweetheart, Thomas-san. And, um..." 

"Nevertheless, it is a beautiful story," he declared. "I do not hear a lot of beautiful stories in this shop. It is always 'Oh, Thomas-san, do you think this orange silk brocade is better than the beige with the gold-threaded chrysanthemum pattern?' I like to talk about clothes, of course, but sometimes one is in need of a diversion. That is why Okon-san and Omasu-san are my favorite customers." He laughed, a light trilling sound that seemed an organic extension of his voice. 

Misao put the buttons carefully into a small jade container. "This is certainly an unusual place you've got here, Thomas-san," she burst out before she could think. She winced. She was curious but it came out sounding wary and suspicious instead. What was wrong with her today? 

"I'm sorry. You must think that rude of me--" 

"No, no," Thomas expostulated. "On the contrary, I am heartened by your interest. It gives me an excuse to talk about myself." He didn't look offended. He sat down in front of the table containing the tea tray. After a moment, Misao followed suit, kneeling next to him. 

"I suppose I do not look like one of your usual shopkeepers, no?" he said cheerfully. He patted his fob watch again, smiling. She smiled back; she couldn't help it. "I am from the Netherlands but I have been living in Japan for a long time, since shortly after the Bakumatsu. I am a dressmaker by trade. I ran a small atelier in Amsterdam. It wasn't too successful though." He laughed again. "And then I met an old friend of mine, who was a trader in Nagasaki, and he urged me to try my luck in Japan. As it turned out I wasn't very lucky in Nagasaki as well, so I moved on to Kyoto. Here, I am very happy if not so successful too." He wiggled his eyebrows. "As you can see..." 

"I like the kimono," said Misao, glancing at them again. "Did you--did you make them?" She rather doubted it. Even to her untrained eye, the fabric looked quite old, and there was her impression of its scent. 

"Dear me, no," exclaimed Thomas. "Producing kimono like those you see on that clothing frame is very expensive, and the technique is rather difficult. The original dyeing solutions, for one, are hard to reproduce." He took the tea pot and began to pour tea on small glazed cups, one of which he handed to Misao. "And as I think you have noticed," and he winked at Misao, "these clothes are antique. Those over there.... you can probably date them to late sixteenth to early seventeenth century. They're part of a layered set which I bought in a rather disreputable family auction in Osaka. They were in a sorry state when I got them." 

Misao's eyes widened. "Then you... restore them?" This was interesting. She knew next to nothing about the actual process of dressmaking, as her experience that the morning could attest -- and she had no idea what had possessed her to start making an actual _yukata_, except perhaps some vague probably delusional memory of hearing Aoshi say he needed another one -- but she did know something about repairing holes, mending seams, replacing buttons and torn sashes. But what Thomas was doing seemed to have an entirely different meaning for him. 

"Restore? Yes, yes, something like that," said Thomas. He pursed his lips reflectively. "It started as a hobby, really. I used to buy old kimono from the odd customer as part of my own personal collection, because I did not then know how to make my own kimono and I couldn't buy the newer ones because they were too costly. I liked matching the kimono, putting them together, so that's what I did, but of course one couldn't wear them just the way they _were_ -- really, Misao-san, you would think people took more care of their clothes, such precious stuff! --which was why I had to improvise..." He paused and studied her, looking her up and down, and then he gave her another one of his happy unaffected smiles. "Ohhh, in fact, I think I have just the set for you, Misao-san! It's called _Summer Begins_." 

Misao blinked. "Yes?" 

"It's a layered confection of blue-green and white and pink and light pink," explained Thomas, looking thrilled and clasping his small hands in front of him. "It just looks delicious, Misao-san! The robes are unlined because they're designed for summer, the end of spring, but the colors are very beautiful! They will go wonderfully with your eyes." 

"Wow, that sounds so cool," exclaimed Misao, leaning forward, tea forgotten, eyes sparkling herself. This was also new to her. What few kimono she had outside of onmitsu costume were bought out of necessity and without much thought. The idea of actually_ fashioning _her clothing was quite fascinating. And then she realized something else. "So, um, Thomas-san, you really sell these kimono sets?" 

"Well, those are what my few regular customers buy," answered Thomas, sipping his tea. "I used to make clothes myself but now I just, as you put it very nicely, restore them and re-sell. And not just kimono either. I've also started selling -- dear me, how do you say it? -- compiled European fashions." 

Misao grinned. "Let me guess what Okon and Omasu buy from you." 

"Omasu-san likes pirate breeches and French shirts," said Thomas. "And Okon-san is currently interested in ballerina shoes and corsets." 

"Really?" said Misao, enthusiasm dimmed by confusion. "That--that sounded pretty weird... And I don't see them wear those things at home..." 

"They're not the sort of attire one wears at home, Misao-san," said Thomas happily. "They're for other things." 

"Huh? Oh. OH." Misao could feel herself turning red. Thomas beamed right at her. 

"In fact," he said, standing up, "let me go get their package now, and I will show you my latest pirate creation for Omasu-san and my ballerina creation for Okon-san and you can tell me what you would like for yourself, too!" 

"The kimono set sounds wonderful..." 

Thomas clapped his hands. "I'll go get it out for you then!" 

"Um, no, not for me," said Misao. Thomas's face fell and she hurried on, "A friend of mine is getting married and I would like to give her something... and I was just thinking that maybe your clothes would be perfect, as I don't think I can afford new dresses, and I know that things like that aren't really appropriate either. But something like an old kimono set would seem more of a--a remembrance or a souvenir...." 

"Ah," exclaimed Thomas. "I see. Say no more, Misao-san! I will willingly provide the gift but I must meet this friend of yours first!" 

"Really?" said Misao eagerly. "They'll be staying in the Aoiya and Jiya is arranging a dinner for them. You will come?" 

Thomas nodded, smiling. "But of course!" 

"Thank you very much, Thomas-san!" 

"Nevertheless, I shall reserve my exquisite summer creation for Misao-san," declared Thomas. 

Misao shook her head regretfully. "Maybe when I have the money... I must think of Kaoru first. I'm glad that Jiya forced me to put away that winter's earnings or else I won't have _anything_ to give at all." She frowned then. "Though I still have no idea what to get Himura..." 

"The groom, am I right?" 

Misao nodded. 

"Perhaps another kimono set?" said Thomas eagerly. "I have just the perfect thing. _Flowering Iris_.... They will look divine together!" 

Misao smiled weakly. 

"Anou, Thomas-san..." 

Suddenly, the door hanging lifted again and someone stepped across the threshold and into the room. Misao glanced at the newcomer and saw a young man, of about twenty or thereabouts, surveying the shop with a studied, almost furtive look on his face. He was dressed in a self-conscious Western mode-- an obviously new peaked cap was placed jauntily on his head, and he wore his ostentatiously black suit as if he looked askance at anyone who dared breathe on them. He was carrying a sack in one hand. Misao, after looking him over, eyed it warily. 

"Yes?" said Thomas. "May I help you, young master?" 

The man looked startled to see him. "Are you the owner of this shop?" 

Thomas bowed. "Yes, I am. Welcome. What can I do for you?" 

He stared at Thomas. He hadn't yet noticed Misao. "Oh. I see. Well... I was the one who sent you that message..." 

Thomas raised a pencilled eyebrow. "Indeed? I had not expected you to come at all, sir. You are very late." 

The young man flushed at the polite, slightly rebuking tone, then glared at Thomas. "I had things to attend to. It's none of your business." He dropped the sack on the floor and looked around, straightening his coat. "I came, didn't I?" 

Thomas exchanged a silent bemused glance with Misao, who had retreated into the shadows beginning to lengthen and pool in the corners of the room as the sun began to set. "Yes. Of course." He cleared his throat. "Now perhaps the young master will explain his purpose for coming?" 

The man approached the clothing frames and began to finger the cloth of the red kimono. "I hear you buy old clothes." 

"You heard correctly, young master." 

"Isn't it a strange occupation for a gaijin?" 

"I do not find it so," said Thomas, politely still, but with a decided icy undertone this time. "Please be careful with that kimono, young master. It took me a lot of time and effort to repair the damage and restore it to what it was." 

The other man turned round, raising an eyebrow. "Really? This old thing? How much would you say it costs now?" He tried to sound disinterested but Misao could hear the off-putting eagerness in his tone. 

"Would you like to buy it?" asked Thomas. 

He scowled. "Listen, you old fart, I--" 

Just then Misao moved forward in her seat, and the man finally saw her. He started, an expression of surprise and something approaching panic flashing across his thin face. 

"Is there a problem?" she said coolly. 

The man made a convulsive movement towards the door. Before she could say or do anything else, he ducked back under the door hanging. Misao sprang after him, but when she emerged out into the busy street, she found him gone. She looked left and right but the surrounding crowd blocked her view. 

"Misao-san, did you find him?" Thomas had come up to stand beside her. 

"No," she said. "Thomas-san, do you know that man?" 

He shook his head. "He sent me a message through public courier earlier this morning, telling me he would come to the shop in the afternoon after closing hours. He didn't give a name. That is why I haven't closed yet when you arrived. I was waiting for him. I thought it was you who sent the message at first but as it turned out..." He shrugged. "He said he had something he wanted to show me." 

"Do you have any idea what that something would be?" 

Thomas held up the sack the young man was carrying. "He forgot to take this. Maybe this is it. But why did he run away when he saw you, Misao-san?" 

Misao sighed. "Thomas-san. I guess you know who I am, don't you? Okon and Omasu must have told you." 

Thomas smiled at her. "They didn't need to tell me. It isn't such a secret, Misao-san. I've been living in Kyoto for years. I know all about the Oniwabanshuu. So he may have recognized you too. Do _you_ know him?" 

"Nope," said Misao, frowning. "But I'll find out. Now," she looked down at Thomas, "do we open that sack?" 

Thomas looked offended that she would ask. "Certainly." 

"There might be something dangerous in there," she warned. "Like a bomb or something." 

"Oh, surely not. And anyway I can tell that Misao-san really wants to open it." 

Misao studied him for a few moments, wondering if he was hiding something. He gave her a mild inquiring look in return. She smiled back. "Well, then." 

"It's old," said Thomas a few minutes later. They were inside his work room which adjoined the main room, and which was even more crowded and messier than the latter, if that was possible. "Very old, I should think, judging by the stitching." 

"It looks like a wedding kimono," said Misao after a pause. 

Thomas looked dubious. "Yes, that is the most probable explanation but..." He patted his fob watch absently. He and Misao stared at the white robe which was now draped over the other clothing frame. The lamps had been lit but even through the shadows, she could see it clearly. The fabric, though, according to Thomas, made of fine and high-quality silk, was very dirty, smudged all over with dust, grime, and insect droppings, with a peculiar uniform grayish film covering all. But the kimono itself was intact. 

"That's good, isn't it?" said Misao. 

"Cleaning it would be a very delicate process," continued Thomas pensively, "if I do not want to ruin the fabric. However, I'm not too worried. I'm sure I can do it without much trouble." 

"But?" Misao prompted. 

Thomas frowned again. "Nothing. It's just that there's something unusual about the pattern on the cloth. The fact that there _is_ a pattern is in itself unusual." He peered at the kimono again. "I can't see it very well. And, if I'm not mistaken, it looks like it's been sewn from inside the kimono." 

Misao turned her head to stare at the kimono again for a long time, her eyes dark and oddly narrowed. Then she stepped back. "Thomas-san," she said abruptly. 

Thomas, busily running through the materials he would need for cleaning the kimono in his head, looked up, startled at her tone. "Yes, Misao-san?" 

"Will you be keeping the kimono here tonight?" 

Thomas blinked. "Oh. Well, yes, I suppose--" 

"And what about the obi?" She inclined her head toward his work table where the abandoned sack lay beside sheets of paper, ink pens, scissors, small jars, and swatches of cloth. 

Thomas blinked again. "Yes, yes, of course. I definitely need to study _that_ more closely." He reached out for the sack and shook it. Something fell out and then resolved itself into a long length of brocade. It was also white, like the kimono, and, like the kimono, it was also covered with that same gray film. But this time the pattern underneath was easily visible, because it had been sewn on with strange bright colors, that weren't colors exactly but more like the peculiar approximation thereof -- the colors, Misao thought suddenly, of a _summer that never was_... She started when she heard Thomas's voice. 

"I think I can clean this up by tomorrow, assuming I can figure out the proper solvent." He was scraping at the film gently with one finger. It dissolved into flaky powder. "Still, there's something different about this pattern too. I wonder if it's the same as that on the kimono..." 

Misao took a deep breath. "Thomas-san, I think you should stay at the Aoiya with us tonight." 

"But Misao-san!" Thomas exclaimed. "I can't start work on this without my equipment!" 

She shook her head. "I'm sorry but until we're sure of the provenance of--of that thing, I don't think you should touch it yet. But I don't think you should stay here with it either. That man who came here this afternoon seems like a very suspicious character. We don't know where he got the stuff. He may have stolen it, for all we know, and he _may_ come back for it tonight to take it from you. It just isn't safe, Thomas-san." 

Thomas sighed. "Well. Maybe you're right, Misao-san. If it's not any bother--" 

"Of course not! Okon and Omasu will be thrilled to have you there. I'm sure they'd be fitting your clothes in no time." 

"But what about my shop?" 

"Don't worry," she replied reassuringly. "I'll have someone watch it for you tonight. If that person does come, we'll know by morning, and then we can report it all to the police if there _is_ something bad going on, all right?" 

"Will we take the kimono with us?" 

Misao averted her head carefully. "I guess we'd better, just to be sure." 

Thomas nodded and beamed at her. "Misao-san is a remarkably capable person. Okon-san and Omasu-san are right. You are the Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, aren't you?" 

"No," she said quickly. "I mean... yes, but it's just--a temporary position." 

"Ah," said Thomas. "Until your childhood sweetheart recovers his lost heart and--" 

_He never will_. 

Misao flushed despite herself. "He's not my..." 

"It doesn't matter," said Thomas happily. "Either way, it's very beautiful." He folded the obi carefully and placed it back inside the sack, then he walked toward the clothing frame and began to remove the kimono. "I know you will think it's bad of me, because perhaps you don't like this sort of situation, but I can't help hoping that that awful young man doesn't come back and we can get to keep the kimono because it really is very lovely if a bit strange. But maybe this is just a style I haven't come across." 

"We?" said Misao slowly. "Oh. Are you thinking that I could give this to Kaoru instead? Won't that be improper? I mean it's her wedding, Thomas-san, and.besides I don't think she'd appreciate what most probably will turn out to be a stolen item." She tried to laugh. 

Thomas winked up at her. "Not for your friend's wedding. For yours. 

"Thomas-san," she groaned. "You are even worse than Okon _and_ Omasu..." 

"And maybe it wasn't stolen!" 

"We don't know for sure," retorted Misao. "And if he didn't steal it, then that kimono rightfully belongs to him and we should return it to him." 

"A piece of clothing like this only belongs to the person to which it is destined to belong, Misao-san," said Thomas, with a sudden disconcerting gravity. He put the kimono inside the sack along with the obi. 

"Who told you that?" said Misao softly. 

"It's just a personal superstition of mine," said Thomas, smiling again. "Well, shall we go? This has turned out to be a very interesting afternoon, eh?" 

_Much more interesting_. 

"Yes," she agreed. "It has." 

End Chapter 1 

Note: Well, all that sounded very--vague. Sorry. I'm making all the details up as I go along. ^^; Notes to follow. 

Next chapter: Misao finds out Things. Aoshi tells her Things. And Things do not end up prettily. (Well, it is only Chapter 2 ^^; It's been some time since I wrote Ruroken fanfic. Feeling my way here. Yeah, excuses...) 


	2. Chapter 2

**Angelus**

Rurouni Kenshin copyright Nobuhiro Watsuki

Chapter 2.

NOTE: This story is a sequel (or, if not, a follow-up story) to "A Road Less Traveled," and it takes place nearly a year after the events outlined in the latter. Furthermore, "Angelus," like Road, does not follow the RK storyline in terms of the manga ending, though there might be a reference or two lurking somewhere in the later chapters. While the reader does not really have to read Road first in order to understand this story, Angelus does make a lot of references to aforementioned. Those who are interested can find Road here:

ated, then stood up, faltering, before she put out a hand on the table to steady herself. "Whoa. I'm out of it, aren't I? I knew I shouldn't have stayed up too late reading those crappy love stories." She tried to laugh. "Thanks for the offer anyway, Omasu. I think I'd better go change now. Jiya probably has a lot of errands for me to run. Have you gone shopping already? You should have woken me up." 

"It's no big deal," said Okon after another glance at Omasu. "You were looking tired last night, so we let you sleep in. Besides, Okina _will_ boss you around the entire day so we thought we should spare you what we could. And now you owe us." Misao's smile seemed to widen a bit at that. "He said something about hiring an open carriage for Kenshin-san and Kaoru-san. He's getting rather carried away."

"And the horses will be wearing matching blinders, designed exclusively by Thomas-san," said Omasu.

This time, Misao's laughter sounded genuine. "You mean Jiya met him?" 

Omasu smirked. "Let's just say it was love at first sight." 

"The dirty old man!" exclaimed Okon. "Milkmaid bonnets! Honestly!" 

"You should have seen them," said Omasu. "If you'd only stayed up instead of--" Okon nudged her sharply. Omasu coughed. "Well, we'll tell you about it later after you've dressed." 

"Where is Thomas-san by the way?" Misao asked. 

Okon shrugged and began to unload the contents of her basket, Omasu following suit quickly. "He went back to the shop with Shiro. He said to tell you he'd be back tomorrow. Okina invited him to the dinner party." 

"Did he take the kimono with him?" said Misao, as if as an afterthought. 

"What? Oh, what that suspicious young man left," Okon replied. "Yes, Thomas-san brought it with him. I think he means to clean it up. He said he'll do his best." 

Misao pushed her hair absently away from her face. "That's good." 

Omasu was already busy at the oven. "Why? If you're worried Thomas-san will damage the material--"

"No," said Misao quietly as she headed towards the door. "I'm not worried."

"Well, then, the expense," continued Omasu. "But I've known Thomas-san to work for next to nothing as long as he's interested in the material. He told me this is the first time he's encountered something like that kimono. I didn't get to see it last night but he said you did. What does it look like anyway? Is that what you're planning to give Kaoru-san? Misao?" She turned when no one answered. "Ara? Misao-chan?" 

Okon shook her head and motioned at the open doorway. 

Omasu sighed. "That girl has been acting _so_ strange!"

"Do you think we should tell Aoshi-sama?"

"He's probably noticed himself," replied Okon. "Ohhhh, I could wring their necks. Why can't they just _talk_ about it?" 

Omasu was silent for a moment. "I think Misao is tired." 

Okon blinked. "What do you mean?" 

"After what happened that last time..." Okon shook her head again. 

"It isn't like Misao to give up. Do you think she still blames herself for what happened?" 

"It wouldn't surprise me. But there's more to it than we think, Okon." Omasu picked up her knife and began to peel a carrot. "There are some things even Misao can't bear, and which Aoshi-sama probably doesn't know how to." 

"I still want to wring their necks." 

Omasu glanced at the untouched cup of tea. "I hope they do it themselves."

"I give them a week."

"Less." 

"Deal." 

End Chapter 2

Note: This isn't just vague, it's also morbid and disoriented and all of it at the same time ;_; I'm not sure even now that I want the story to take this direction -- I mean to say that after writing and deciding on this chapter there's another unexpected and dubious ramification to the plot (i.e., it's not _just _a ghost story anymore goddammit) -- but oh oh it would be a more logical explanation for Misao -- I'm trying to keep her in character, just sort of, for a hopefully intelligible reason, argh. And there's Aoshi, who defeats logic sometimes. Bad boi. 

And I don't really have to write OLH any more after this, do I? ;_; As the dynamic is basically the same, only this time, it's a hell of a lot more confused. 

Next chapter: More Angst _ Kenshin and Kaoru arrive in Kyoto. And Misao--reacts. 


	3. Chapter 2 COMPLETE

Angelus  
  
  
  
Rurouni Kenshin copyright Nobuhiro Watsuki  
  
  
  
Chapter 2.  
  
  
  
NOTE: This story is a sequel (or, if not, a follow-up story) to "A Road Less Traveled," and it takes place nearly a year after the events outlined in the latter. Furthermore, "Angelus," like Road, does not follow the RK storyline in terms of the manga ending, though there might be a reference or two lurking somewhere in the later chapters. While the reader does not really have to read Road first in order to understand this story, Angelus does make a lot of references to aforementioned. Those who are interested can find Road here:  
  
groups.yahoo.com/files/niaiserie   
  
Please ignore the chapter before this one (that is, the 'Chapter 2' linked in FF.net -- it's a bogus copy; I've tried replacing the text but it keeps coming up with the same thing. This is the complete Chapter 2 and what should be Chapter 3. I've just decided to integrate the two chapters.   
  
Note: // // - flashback sequences   
  
-- -- - thoughts  
  
TO FF.NET REVIEWERS -- You can find Road in the yahoogroups address indicated above. You will have to subscribe to the list before you can access the files though, as it is a restricted group ^^; Sorry for the inconvenience. Road is in the Serials directory. So are the HTML copies of Angelus. FF.net keeps spitting out my htm /and/ Word files. Blah.   
  
Thanks for the interest! ^_^   
  
Tin  
  
http://www.livejournal.com/~pornkings  
  
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/niaiserie  
  
  
  
Draft: May 24, 2003  
  
  
  
She didn't sleep well that night. She kept waking up in between intervals. It was the heat, she told herself. Kyoto in high summer was humid, always on the verge of a sudden thunderstorm that never came. She finally dozed off towards dawn, and when she woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. Misao stared blankly at the ceiling first, feeling the heat of sunlight on her neck and shoulders, and then rolled out of her futon in a hurry, mumbling and cursing. She threw on an old tattered haori over her sleeping robe and ran out into the hallway.   
  
Kuro must have come in already with his report. If he had seen someone trying to break into Thomas's shop, he would need orders on how to proceed. What kind of Okashira was she that she couldn't even brief her men on time? And why didn't they /wake/ her? She skid to a stop in front of the kitchen door and slid it open as fast as she could.  
  
"Kuro, I am so sorry..." Color rushed to her face as she saw who was sitting on the kitchen table. She slid the door shut behind her with suddenly nerveless fingers, her eyes widening. "Aoshi-sama? What are /you/ doing here?"  
  
"Kuro has already left," said Aoshi after what seemed to her an eternity later. "He came in very early this morning. As it turned out, I was already awake. He told me of what happened last night."   
  
"Oh," stammered Misao. "Did--did he?" She opened her mouth to mutter an automatic apology and then closed it. She had not told him or Okina of her plans. When she and Thomas arrived in the Aoiya, she had left him with Okon and Omasu -- who welcomed him with delighted cries and knowing winks and wouldn't hear of Misao taking him first to Okina -- while she went on to the kitchen to talk to Kuro. He had agreed instantly to her request.   
  
Well, I /am/ Okashira, despite what that means in my position, she thought now, resentfully. Why should I be nervous? Just because it's him...   
  
It was then that she remembered she was wearing nothing more than a thin sleeping robe and an equally disreputable haori. Which, she realized with sudden horror, belonged to him. He used to wear it when he stayed with her and Haanya and the others in the Aoiya, just before they left her with Okina for good. He had forgotten to take the haori. Or perhaps he left it deliberately. She had kept it with her ever since, much like a favorite blanket. She tugged it around her now, hoping he wouldn't notice.   
  
-- Why should he? --   
  
Aoshi picked up his tea cup then put it back down again. "You look tired," he said after another pause. "Couldn't you sleep?"   
  
Misao made a belated effort to fix her hair, which was coming apart from its loose braid. When she noticed him watching her, she dropped her hand. She didn't meet his eyes. "Yes. It was--hot last night." She shook her head slightly. "Aoshi-sama, what did Kuro tell you? Did he see someone in Thomas-san's shop after all?"   
  
"No," said Aoshi. "No one came." He closed his hand slowly around his cup. "That doesn't mean anything though. Kuro is already resting. I asked Shiro to do it instead."  
  
She frowned. "To do what?"   
  
"Look for news," he replied in his cool voice. "I know the Aoiya receives a fairly frequent batch of intelligence reports about goings-on in the city, but I was thinking of something more specific."   
  
Misao blinked at him, wondering what he was driving at, when she understood. "Yes, yes, of course. I should have thought of it sooner." She rubbed her eyes vigorously. "It's just that when we send Shiro or Kuro or the others out, it's usually to look for items in a grocery list." She tried to smile, though her eyes were smarting. "And when I think of intelligence reports, it's usually in the context of another boring political squabble or stuff like that."   
  
She knew that was not true. She knew that Okina did send the other Oniwabanshuu out on missions she had no knowledge about, and she had no doubt that /he/ had something to do with it as well. And while the reports they received, or at least those that she saw, /were/ nothing more than statistical enumerations of the latest catfights between government functionaries, she knew there were a lot more she hadn't seen and which were definitely about /other/ things. She hadn't confronted Okina about it yet -- he would just deny it incessantly and they would quarrel -- and she simply didn't know how to confront Aoshi. She could ask him now, straight out, or make a sarcastic hurting comment -- she was in such a mood, had been for weeks -- but what would be the use?  
  
-- That's always how it is. --  
  
"I know you send the Oniwabanshuu out for things other than grocery items, Misao," he said, to her surprise. She gaped at him. "Okina told me you were using Shiro to blackmail the head of the fire prevention department, for instance." His voice was mild, almost carefully neutral. There was no hint of reproach in his tone, but something about the way he said it, perhaps the fact that he was saying it at all, knowing what he did, because it was /him/, got to her.   
  
"If by blackmail you mean threatening to tell his wife about his stupid courting of useless women left and right unless he got off his lazy ass and actually did something about his job," she burst out unthinkingly, "then, yes, I do use the Oniwabanshuu for stuff other than shopping in the market. I also send them to rescue cats that climb too high up roofs and trees." She gave him a defiant stare. "And I make them round up the neighborhood delinquents to clean temples and do the laundry for sick old women. I know it sounds stupid--"  
  
"I wasn't criticizing you," he said. His face was inscrutable as always, but one eyebrow was raised ever so slightly. "But--"  
  
"But that isn't what the Oniwabanshuu is for, is it?" she interrupted him. "Where is the /honor/ and /glory/ in helping cats and snitching on old bureaucrats and--and watching out for insignificant gaijin dressmakers?" She knew she should stop, that she was making herself look ridiculous, but she couldn't. Her mouth just seemed to be perpetually working on automatic whenever she got close to him. That was how it had always been between the both of them, but she knew also that there was something different about it now, ever since... She tried to stop.   
  
-- Why should you? --  
  
"But how could someone like /me/ know what being an Oniwabanshuu and being an Okashira are about, right, Aoshi-sama?" she continued. "It's impossible, and you know why? Because I have absolutely no idea! Because no one would tell me! So if you think what I'm doing is wrong, and silly, then you tell me how to do things, because /you/ obviously know how to do it right. You would know, wouldn't you, Aoshi-sama? Because--"  
  
She stopped.  
  
He stood up from the table and walked toward her. She clutched the haori tighter around her shoulders as he approached.   
  
He slid the door open and she moved away from the doorway.  
  
"No," he said without looking at her as he stepped out. "I wouldn't know."   
  
  
  
She was still sitting in the kitchen table when Okon and Omasu bustled in, chatting happily. They stopped talking when they saw her. She hadn't yet gone back to her room to dress or even wash. She was staring at Aoshi's tea cup, which he had left on the table. The green liquid inside looked colorless in the warm light flooding through the open shutters into the kitchen.   
  
"Misao?" said Okon, approaching her hesitantly. "Are you all right?"   
  
She didn't answer.  
  
Omasu laid a worried hand on her shoulder. "You look horrible." She bent down to peer at Misao's face.   
  
"Have you been crying?"  
  
She shook her head slowly. "No. I--I just--woke up."   
  
She felt rather than saw Omasu exchange a glance with Okon over her head.  
  
"I see," Omasu finally said. Then, "Would you like some more tea?" She made a clucking sound. "That looks cold. You haven't even touched it!"  
  
"It isn't--" Misao hesitated, then stood up, faltering, before she put out a hand on the table to steady herself. "Whoa. I'm out of it, aren't I? I knew I shouldn't have stayed up too late reading those crappy love stories." She tried to laugh. "Thanks for the offer anyway, Omasu. I think I'd better go change now. Jiya probably has a lot of errands for me to run. Have you gone shopping already? You should have woken me up."   
  
"It's no big deal," said Okon after another glance at Omasu. "You were looking tired last night, so we let you sleep in. Besides, Okina will boss you around the entire day so we thought we should spare you what we could. And now you owe us." Misao's smile seemed to widen a bit at that. "He said something about hiring an open carriage for Kenshin-san and Kaoru-san. He's getting rather carried away."  
  
"And the horses will be wearing matching bonnets, designed exclusively by Thomas-san," said Omasu.  
  
This time, Misao's laughter sounded genuine. "You mean Jiya met him?"   
  
Omasu smirked. "Let's just say it was love at first sight."   
  
"The dirty old man!" exclaimed Okon. "Milkmaid skirts! Honestly!"   
  
"You should have seen them," said Omasu. "If you'd only stayed up instead of--" Okon nudged her sharply. Omasu coughed. "Well, we'll tell you about it later after you've dressed."   
  
"Where is Thomas-san by the way?" Misao asked.   
  
Okon shrugged and began to unload the contents of her basket, Omasu following suit quickly. "He went back to the shop with Shiro. He said to tell you he'd be back tomorrow. Okina invited him to the dinner party."   
  
"Did he take the kimono with him?" said Misao, as if as an afterthought.   
  
"What? Oh, what that suspicious young man left," Okon replied. "No. He said you didn't want him to. He really wanted to get started on it last night but--"   
  
Misao pushed her hair absently away from her face. "Well, unless we're sure about the identity of who really owns that kimono, I think we should leave it alone. I'm glad he left it here though. Where is it now?"   
  
Omasu was already busy at the oven. "What? The kimono? It's in our room. We didn't even take it out of that smelly old sack. Why? Are you worried about Thomas-san handling the stuff? He won't ruin the fabric."  
  
"No," said Misao quietly as she headed towards the door. "I'm not worried."  
  
"Well, of course, there's the expense," continued Omasu. "But I've known Thomas-san to work for next to nothing as long as he's interested in the material. He told me this is the first time he's encountered something like that kimono. I didn't get to see it last night but he said you did. What does it look like anyway? Is that what you're planning to give Kaoru-san? Misao?" She turned when no one answered. "Ara? Misao-chan?"   
  
Okon shook her head and motioned at the open doorway.   
  
Omasu sighed. "That girl has been acting /so/ strange!"  
  
"Do you think we should tell Aoshi-sama?"  
  
"He's probably noticed himself," replied Okon. "Ohhhh, I could wring their necks. Why can't they just talk about it?"   
  
Omasu was silent for a moment. "I think Misao is tired."   
  
Okon blinked. "What do you mean?"   
  
"After what happened that last time..." Okon shook her head again.   
  
"It isn't like Misao to give up. Do you think she still blames herself for what happened?"   
  
"It wouldn't surprise me. But there's more to it than we think, Okon." Omasu picked up her knife and began to peel a carrot. "There are some things even Misao can't bear, and which Aoshi-sama probably doesn't know how to," she added cryptically.   
  
Omasu made a face. "I still want to wring their necks."   
  
Omasu glanced at the untouched cup of tea. "I hope they do it themselves."  
  
"I give them a week."  
  
"Less."   
  
"Deal."   
  
  
  
Okina not only kept her 'busy' the next couple of days, he practically ran her ragged. Misao collapsed on her futon that night, feeling more tired than she had ever been the past several weeks. But it was a sort of tiredness that she could bear, that made her feel alive, somewhat. She smiled a little to herself as she closed her eyes. She wondered if it had been deliberate on Okina's part. He was not so blind as he was pretending to be. On the other hand, he might just be too distracted to care, busy as he was concocting, even for him, the most outrageous plans for Kaoru and Kenshin's trip to Kyoto, including but not limited to flower-decorated carriages, monogrammed horse bonnets, a poetry competition for the neighborhood girls, and an overnight stay in a rather risque bath house in one of the more notorious nightlife districts for Kenshin.  
  
"And for me and Shiro and Kuro and Aoshi and Sano, of course, if he comes. And Thomas-san," added Okina. "Just for old times sake." He stroked the ribbon on his beard and cackled.  
  
"What old times?" demanded Okon.  
  
"You girls can go to another bath house, if you want," said Okina airily.  
  
Okon glared at him and whipped out a piece of paper from her kimono.  
  
"Omasu and I have already reserved rooms at Taki-san's," she declared, waving the paper in the air. "That's where they're going."  
  
"What?" Okina shrieked. "Who goes to that dinky corny place? All those stupid hearts and scary open-air concerts and that frightful old maid Taki--"  
  
"Who goes to perverted bath houses?" Okon shot back.  
  
"It's just one last night of love," said Okina. "Himura will appreciate it."  
  
"Kaoru-san won't," said Okon. "And where's the love in boring half-dressed courtesans stuffing you with badly cooked sushi?" She shook a finger at Okina. "Don't answer that." Then she smiled maliciously. "Besides, you know Kaoru-san. She's a very polite girl but you'll be lucky if she she leaves you with one leg standing to hop after pretty girls once she finds out what you're planning."  
  
Normally Misao would have joined in. She had a little brilliant idea of her own, involving lots of sake, missing futon, and a pinch of this and that on Himura's food, just to be sure. But she didn't say anything. Okina looked at her speculatively, seemed about to say something, and was jabbed in the ribs by a fierce-eyed Okon. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Misao, what are you standing there for? Go clean Kaoru's room," he said instead.  
  
Misao sighed. "I've cleaned it for like a hundred times already, Jiya."  
  
"Then clean Himura's room."  
  
"Likewise."  
  
"Did you put up the diagram?"  
  
".... Jiya, are you sure?"   
  
"Sure I'm sure," exclaimed Okina. He shot her an exaggerated glare, putting up his fists and striking a pose, just like he always did when they were about to fall on each other over another inane happy argument. "Why, are you telling me I'm wrong? Are you telling me--"  
  
"All right, Jiya." She turned and walked back towards Kenshin's room.  
  
Okon jabbed him again. Okina put down his fists slowly.  
  
"She should have been dragging me by the beard," Misao heard Okina mutter. "Or at the very least trying to severe my jugular."  
  
"What, like this?"  
  
"Okon! To do such things to a helpless old man!"  
  
"Quiet. Now how much?"  
  
"Fifty."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"On the other hand," said Okina in a distinctly crafty voice, "how about my lovely bath house against your cheap rabu hotel?"  
  
"You're on, old man."  
  
Now what in the world did that mean, Misao wondered vaguely. She knew she was missing something. She was missing a lot of things these days. Shiro at least had told her that he had nothing to report yet. She hadn't missed /that/. Misao slid her blanket up to her chin, listening to the humming of the cicadas outside in the garden. Her body ached all over. That was good. She should be able to sleep more easily and wouldn't have to meet Kenshin and Kaoru in the station looking like she had just rolled out of bed and wouldn't mind getting back there this very instant. Yesterday morning's encounter with Aoshi rose to her mind; she pushed the memory away with some impatience, some sadness. She tried to think of seeing her friends again tomorrow, to look forward to it. But all she could feel again was that same emptiness. It wasn't much better than thinking about Aoshi.  
  
This was not only disorienting, it was also unfair. There was this one thing which she /should/ be happy about. There was no use associating it with--other things. She had thought that she was a better person than that. When she had read Kaoru's letter, she was even beginning to believe it, was still strong enough to doubt her feelings and assert herself despite them. Even then she had been so sure. Was it only two days ago?   
  
She turned her head to look out into the darkness through the shogi screens which were half-open to the night. At least she didn't see him. She didn't ask the others where he was and they didn't tell her.   
  
Maybe she wouldn't dream about it tonight.  
  
  
  
As it turned out, it was Kaoru who saw her first. Misao was standing on the platform, craning her neck and looking left and right for the bright copper flash of Himura's hair, which was as distinct and unmistakable as lighthouse signal in a military installation, when she was engulfed by a blur of pale yellow and rose. She blinked, and the blur resolved itself into an impression of Kaoru's familiar blue eyes and warm smile as the other girl drew back, and then embraced her again.  
  
"Misao-chan! It is so good to see you!"  
  
She hugged Kaoru back as tightly as she could.  
  
"Hisashiburi, Kaoru-san," she said, when she could speak.  
  
She saw Kenshin over Kaoru's shoulder, carrying their bags. He smiled at her, and something in her heart loosened a little at the sight of his face, at Kaoru's presence. She smiled back and waved.  
  
Kaoru stepped away a fraction. "Mou. It's been such a long time, Misao-chan. Let me look at you!" Her eyes were frank and inquiring, as always. Misao tried to meet her gaze directly like she always did. Kaoru frowned a little, a sort of tension flickering in her eyes. Misao stiffened.   
  
"Why, you haven't grown a single bit, Misao-chan," she exclaimed indignantly. "Aren't you taking the pills Megumi and I sent you? They're supposed to be very efficacious--"  
  
She pretended to scowl at Kaoru. "What do you mean I haven't grown? I /so/ did grow! Just because /I'm/ not getting married doesn't mean I'm automatically undernourished! And whoever said I needed those stupid pills?" She poked her chest. "You wanna compare--"  
  
"I'm ready when you are!" Kaoru declared.  
  
Kenshin coughed.  
  
"Misao-dono, it is good to see you," he said and approached her, holding out his hand with his usual gentle smile.  
  
"Himura! You sly shrimp!"  
  
Misao ignored the hand and flung her arms around him, making sure she slugged him in the process. She felt him relax very slightly against her for the smallest fraction of a moment, as if he were reassured by something, before he flopped exaggeratedly in her arms, bent over backwards.  
  
"Oroooooo...."  
  
She grinned at Kaoru, who grinned back, but not before she saw that look in her eyes again.   
  
"Well," Misao said brightly, "shall we go?"   
  
  
  
They chatted loudly together on the way back to the Aoiya, and laughed a great deal and talked about things only people who had not seen each other for a time and people who were avoiding having to talk about other things, would talk about. Kenshin beamed benevolently at them both amd at the world in general as he walked slightly behind them.   
  
"It's a pity about Yahiko staying behind in the dojo," said Misao.  
  
Kaoru waved a hand. "Oh, he'll be all right. Besides Yutaro-kun has just returned for a short visit so the timing is about perfect. They'll keep each other company."   
  
"I still say you should have tied at least /one/ of them up," said Misao.  
  
They snickered. Kenshin fell behind a few steps prudently.   
  
"So, when are Sano and Megumi coming over then?"   
  
"Just as soon as Megumi finishes treating this latest patient of hers," Kaoru replied. "She couldn't leave him alone, the state he's in, and besides she's still waiting for Dr. Genzai to return from his vacation. Sano decided to wait for her." She winked.   
  
"Oh," said Misao. "I mean, that's great. Who would have thought the rooster head had it in him?"  
  
"You'd be surprised," said Kaoru with a little laugh. "Did I ever tell you about our stay in that old mansion--?"  
  
"You wrote about it," said Misao and poked her friend slightly. "You said you'd tell me more when we see each other again. What's the big secret? Is it about Sano and Megumi?"   
  
Kaoru glanced away quickly, back at the oblivious-looking Kenshin, and she smiled again, but it was a small distant smile that was gone almost as soon as it appeared. Misao watched her curiously. "Well, something like that. I suppose you could say..." She shook her head and turned back to Misao. "I'll tell you about it when we're alone. And what about you? What about your big secret?"  
  
Misao tensed. "What big secret?"  
  
"There was that one letter, Misao-chan," said Kaoru quietly. Misao glanced at Kenshin. "No. I didn't tell him anything. Don't worry."  
  
"There's nothing to tell anyway," said Misao, pulling away a bit from Kaoru's hold on her arm.  
  
Kaoru tightened her grasp. "Yes, there is. I want to know if you're all right."  
  
"Of course I am."  
  
"Misao, that letter--"  
  
"Kaoru-san, please."  
  
Her friend seemed to hesitate. "I'm sorry for prying. But--"  
  
Misao sighed. "No, it's all right. I just--don't want to talk about it yet. Actually, I'm trying to forget all about it." She tried to smile. "Besides, I'm okay, as you can see."  
  
Kaoru's frown deepened. "If you're sure--"  
  
"Yes," she said, saying it as emphatically as she could. "I'm sure."  
  
Kaoru studied her for a while longer, then she shook her head. "Just remember that if you want to talk about it, I'll be here, Misao-chan. I'll understand."  
  
She nodded and smiled again. "Thank you."  
  
-- No one will ever understand. --  
  
  
  
The welcome celebration was a great success, or at least according to those parties who were still sober enough to offer an intelligible opinion later that night. Okina had collared Kenshin early on right after dinner and proceeded to feed him with terrifying quantities of sake as if through a pipeline. The younger man had opened his mouth to protest nervously, Okina had pounced waving the sake bottle like his tonfa, and that was the end of the entire matter. He literally never knew what hit him. The last Misao saw of him he was crawling on hands and knees toward the hallway, where she then glimpsed Kuro picking him up and dangling him upside down, mumbling something about Himura-san is sooo cool let's have another drink, while Okina bellowed rude love songs and slapped another bottle over Kenshin's mouth and Kenshin turned several horrifying shades greener.   
  
Okon and Omasu had latched onto Kaoru in a similar if a more decorous fashion, and all three now disappeared off towards the private rooms, clutching each other and staggering happily, dragging Thomas after them like a cute rag doll on a string. Misao could hear him and Kaoru giggling over a certain 'very very very very pretty dress' and ribbons and lace and petticoats and funny necklines and extremely amusing wedding nights. Thomas, of course, had taken to both Kaoru and Kenshin instantly, to Kaoru's mutual edification and Kenshin's very wary bemusement as Thomas proceeded to stalk him all throughout dinner, eyeing his waistline rather predatorily.   
  
"I am thinking, Kaoru-san, that a few inches less will only be the more divine," said Thomas, with a corresponding angelic smile. "I am sure that Kenshin-san will agree with me."  
  
"He doesn't have to agree," said Kaoru, and giggled once more. "Ne, Kenshin?" She glanced over her shoulder blearily. "Eh? Where's Kenshin?"   
  
Omasu tugged at her sleeve. "Don't worry, Kaoru-san. Okina's still pouring sake down his throat. He won't be breathing until morning."  
  
"Oh, okay," said Kaoru. Then she caught sight of Misao. "Misao-chan! What are you doing there? Aren't you coming? You promised!"   
  
"I'm coming, Kaoru-san," Misao said. "I'm just going to... clear the table."   
  
Luckily, both Okon and Omasu were too drunk to process her response. Kaoru, however, stopped in her tracks, her brow furrowed, then it cleared almost immediately.   
  
"Oh, I get it. You're waiting for Aoshi-san, eh?" She nudged Thomas. "Isn't she a darling?"  
  
"So cute!" trilled Thomas.   
  
"Where'd he go off to anyway?" mumbled Okon. "Ow! OW! I swear, Okina should stop putting these trick mines in the stairs. That old man is sooooo immature!"   
  
"Misao-chaaaan!"   
  
"Yes, yes," Misao called out, waving them off as she stood at the foot of the stairs. "I promise I'll follow, Kaoru-san... Ara, Thomas-san, watch it! Not so hard, Omasu!" She watched them tramp off in the direction of Kaoru's room, listened for another burst of laughter, which was followed very quickly by a collective thump, and then, smiling despite herself, turned back towards the dining area.  
  
The room was a mess of uncleared platters and used sake bottles. Misao glared at the entire table for a moment before she started stacking the dishes one on top of the other, sighing. It could wait until morning but the others would probably be too hung over to do it, and she didn't want to have to ask them to do something later that she was perfectly capable of doing now. She had been doing that for far too long. And getting drunk wouldn't have been an excuse, though it remained a very tempting prospect.   
  
But she wanted to know where he was. He had eaten supper with the rest of them -- she had even glimpsed him smiling at something Himura was saying -- but then disappeared quietly immediately after, because when next she casually glanced at his seat, he was gone. She went on eating quietly, though she noticed Kaoru looking at her pointedly from time to time.  
  
She had managed to draw Shiro aside in the hallway during a lull in the party, along with Thomas. This time, he had news. They didn't talk for long, but they all understood the implications of the conversation.  
  
Misao brought the dishes to the kitchen, half-expecting to find Okina and everyone else there, but to her surprise she found it empty. She put the dishes on top of a table and hurried out of the room. She peered out at the veranda, saw no one there, then retreated to the common room, where she nearly stumbled on Kenshin's prone body which lay limply on the floor by the doorway like fish about to be skinned. She poked him gingerly in the ribs with a finger, wondering, temporarily awe-struck, if he was still alive. He opened his mouth, as if he were about to let loose a hysterical scream, then closed it again abruptly. She shook her head and looked at the inside of the room, where Okina, Kuro, and Shuro were scattered about the floor in varying, sometimes painfully contorted poses, snoring loudly.   
  
Misao headed quietly for the stairs. She checked Kaoru's room first and found everyone there already predictably keeled over. She then went into an empty guest bedroom, just down the corridor, which Okon used as a walk-in storage cabinet, where she collected blankets, after which she went back to Kaoru's room, and, finally, to the common room. Okina wasn't too amenable to her attempts to tuck him in with a blanket. He kept trying to pry her mouth open.  
  
After she finished she started to walk back to the dining area, paused for a long time, deep in thought, then slowly made her way to the official quarters of the Okashira, a large room that also extended into a library, albeit a private and secret one. The existence of the Oniwabanshuu was public knowledge, as it were, but the mechanisms of their organization were very closely guarded. The Aoiya was riddled with hidden corridors, subterranean passages to other buildings in the compound, dead-end exits, some of which had been rebuilt and reinforced after the Aoiya's partial destruction during the Juppongatana attack more than a year ago. Misao entered one such obscure passageway now, feeling her way in the dark. The door to the office was slightly open. She had left it closed earlier this evening, after her talk with Shiro and Thomas.   
  
She pushed the door on its well-oiled hinges and stepped into the room silently. There was no one inside, though she could barely see in the dark and she couldn't be sure. A single oil lamp burned on the table, but the rest of the room was damp, almost cold. There seemed to be a draft in the air. During the day this room was well-lit and well-ventilated, with the windows open and unshuttered; it faced out onto a small garden bordering the edge of the Aoiya property but which was hidden from view by outsiders and passersby. One of the windows was open now; perhaps the source of the draft. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She stepped fully into the room, when Aoshi spoke,  
  
"Have you heard from Shiro?"   
  
She whirled around. He was sitting in a chair deep in the shadows on the other side of the room. She couldn't see him. If he hadn't spoken, she might never have noticed him at all.  
  
Her steps didn't falter though. They moved toward the window, which she shut quickly, though her hands weren't quite so steady as her feet.   
  
"Yes," she answered. "He told me that an old woman was found dead in her house this morning."   
  
A pause and then, "Murdered?"   
  
Misao shook her head. "According to Shiro, the police aren't so sure. She was tied in a chair but there were no marks of violence on her body." She tried to emulate his calm voice. "There might be a connection to the kimono. According to the dead woman's niece, her aunt had kept several antique kimono in a large steamer trunk, which was found forced open. Shiro is going to try and get a copy of the catalogue of these missing items. Thomas-san's kimono is probably one of them."   
  
"I see," he said. "Where is the kimono?"   
  
"I left it here," she replied. "I was just--going to get it." She opened a drawer of the table, reached in, and held up the old sack. "I'm pretty sure that the man who came to Thomas-san's shop is the thief or, perhaps, a fence. I'm betting on the former. Either way we have to find him."  
  
"How do you propose to do so?"   
  
She hesitated. "A police sketch will be more practical. He may already have a record for all we know. Saitou will."   
  
"You intend to report this to the police then," he said.  
  
Misao shrugged and fiddled with the sack in her hands, her head bent. "There seems to be little choice. Even if the Oniwabanshuu find him first, we still have to turn him in. I'll still keep Shiro on the lookout, just to be sure." When he didn't answer, she finally summoned the courage to look at him.   
  
"Why?" she asked, nervously, after long moments of silence. "Is there something else about this situation that I should know about, Aoshi-sama?"   
  
His voice, when he answered, was calm and modulated as always, almost indifferent.   
  
"Why should you think that?"   
  
"You won't be showing any interest at all otherwise," she replied in as matter-of-fact a voice as she could muster. "This sounds only like a routine robbery--"  
  
"--that is complicated by a suspicious death--"  
  
"--and something else," she finished quietly. "What are you hiding from me? Aoshi-sama?"   
  
There was another silence, then she heard him stand up from his chair.   
  
"Thomas-san told me that there was something peculiar about the stolen kimono," he said coolly. "That is why I am interested. May I see?" He emerged out of the darkness to stand before her within the dim circle of light cast by the oil lamp.   
  
Her lips thinned as she studied him. There was no way to tell whether Aoshi /was/ hiding something or not, and there was the reasonable possibility that he was merely taking a token interest in the case simply because of that novel twist involving the kimono. He was not the sort of person to ignore things like that. He had been Okashira for far too long, as he himself told her. He never took risks, but he never left things to chance either, which was why he was nearly impossible to read. He was even more difficult to read than Himura, and she herself was too uncertain of her own ground. This was not a matter of exposing one's emotions, or lack thereof, but a comprehensive assessment of another's motives, his deductions, his choices. Whatever they may be, with or without regard to oneself.   
  
But where did he go and what was he doing here at this time of night?   
  
"Misao."  
  
"Oh!" she stuttered, flushing and cursing herself inwardly for her distraction. "Oh, yes, the kimono. Sure." She drew it out of the sack. The kimono was heavy on her arms. As she handed it to him, that strange gray dust rose up from its surface, clinging to the suddenly chill air.  
  
She sneezed violently. Mortified, she backed away, covering her mouth with both hands.   
  
"Excuse me--"   
  
Aoshi didn't even glance at her. He was studying the fabric of the kimono, frowning.   
  
"It's very dirty. Thomas-san wanted to clean it but I told him we'd better not touch it until we knew who the real owner was," she said in a muffled voice. She sniffed.   
  
"I see," he said. "However, I think perhaps--"   
  
Thunder rumbled again in the distance, and the window, which she hadn't shut properly, slammed open, hitting the wall beside it loudly. Wind rushed into the room, along with an onslaught of dead leaves, the scent of moist earth, and rain, rattling the shutters and the papers on the table.   
  
The lamp went out.   
  
Misao rushed to close the window. Another blast of wind soaked with cold rainwater hit her on the face, splashing her skin and clothes, as she struggled with the window latch. She was dimly aware of Aoshi coming up to stand close beside her, pushing her hands away, as he fastened the shutter himself. Lightning flashed in the sky, and she saw his face as he turned to look at her, before he shut the window completely.   
  
Her breath was coming out in small, shaking gasps in the sudden darkness.   
  
"You're cold," he said and took another step closer towards her.   
  
Something soft and heavy was wrapped around her shoulders, like an embrace. Her hands came up, reflexively, to touch it, but she found herself gripping the starched cloth of his robe instead. She tried to let go, but she couldn't move, and she realized it was because he was holding onto her as well, painfully, his fingers digging into her very skin. This close his face to her became a pattern of isolated elements -- his strange grey-green eyes, staring at her with an emotion she couldn't define, perhaps only a reflection of the emotion in her own; his hair, darker than shadow, against the paleness of his face; the curve of his cheekbone, sharp and elegantly defined. She traced it with the tips of her fingers, moving downward to his mouth.   
  
And then her fingers were pushed away, and he was kissing her with such violence it would have snapped her head back, if she didn't kiss him back with a similar violence.   
  
She didn't know long it lasted. A second, maybe more than an eternity.   
  
But it was over soon enough.   
  
The entire line of his body stiffened, and he pushed her away, so abruptly she staggered. She put up the back of her hand against her mouth, gazing at him with wide dark eyes.   
  
"Misao," he said, his voice harsh and low. "Misao." He reached for her again, but not before she saw the look on his face. Disgust, contempt. Anger.   
  
"Wait--"   
  
She didn't know she was running until she found herself in the dark corridor outside, stumbling blindly towards the exit way, stumbling on her own feet.   
  
  
  
// He pushed her away, so roughly she hit the floor. Bruised, and shaken, she stared up at him uncomprehendingly.   
  
"What are you doing?"   
  
"I told you to stop," he said angrily. "I warned you."   
  
She shook her head as she raised herself painfully to her knees. "I don't--I don't understand. Why--"  
  
"Do I have to tell you again?" he shouted. "I'm not going to risk this. I'm not going to risk anything else for you."   
  
"Why?" she cried. "Don't I mean anything to you at all? Didn' t you tell me that you," her voice fell away as she stared at his hard furious face, "loved me," she finished blankly.   
  
He laughed shortly. "Don't be stupid."   
  
"Loved me," she repeated, in a different voice. "You don't. You never did."   
  
He shrugged but he avoided her eyes. "How was I to know you'd take it so seriously?" He squared his shoulders and glared at her. "I'm telling you, you have to behave yourself. I will not answer to the consequences should you do otherwise."   
  
"Don't do this," she said. "I'm warning you."  
  
"You're warning me!?" he burst out incredulously before his face darkened. Then he reached out and hit her on the face, hard. Blood spurted out of her mouth. She didn't flinch.  
  
"Very well," he sneered. "If that's the way you want it. I'm not going to do anything else for you. Leave me out of it." He strode out of the room.   
  
She stared emptily at the space of her for a long, long time. The sunlight was bright on her face. She felt its heat as tangibly as the imprint of his hand on her face, as her own anger.  
  
Then she roused herself and stood up.   
  
She had things to do. //  
  
  
  
End Chapter 2  
  
Note: This isn't just vague, it's also morbid and disoriented and all of it at the same time ;_; I'm not sure even now that I want the story to take this direction -- I mean to say that after writing and deciding on this chapter there's another unexpected and dubious ramification to the plot (i.e., it's not just a ghost story anymore goddammit) -- but oh oh it would be a more logical explanation for Misao -- I'm trying to keep her in character, just sort of, for a hopefully intelligible reason, argh. And there's Aoshi, who defeats logic sometimes. Bad boi.   
  
And I don't really have to write OLH any more after this, do I? ;_; As the dynamic is basically the same, only this time, it's a hell of a lot more confused. 


End file.
